Christina Moran didn't ask for a love triangle.
She asked for her salary to arrive on time, her headset to stop shocking her ear, and her nose to be left out of office memes.
But fate—or maybe just poor HR policies—had other plans.
It started with Jacob.
He was the kind of guy who could carry five gallons of water up three flights of stairs without breaking a sweat, but couldn't spell "escalation" without autocorrect. He was loyal, kind, and had the emotional depth of a motivational poster taped to a dumbbell.
One afternoon, while Christina was pretending to troubleshoot a router that was clearly just unplugged, Jacob approached her with a look that screamed "I rehearsed this in the mirror."
"Hey," he said, scratching the back of his neck. "I've been thinking… maybe we could hang out sometime. You know, outside of work. Like, not in the pantry."
Christina blinked. "Like a date?"
Jacob nodded. "Yeah. I mean, if you want. I know I'm not rich or smart or… whatever Edward is. But I'm consistent. Like your metrics."
She smiled. "That's the weirdest compliment I've ever received."
Then came Edward Callen.
He didn't ask. He declared.
"I've reserved a table at the executive lounge," he said, appearing at her station like a ghost with a corporate card. "They're serving imported salmon and existential dread."
Christina stared at him. "Is this a date or a philosophical ambush?"
Edward smirked. "Both."
The office buzzed with gossip.
"Jacob confessed!"
"Edward made a reservation!"
"Christina's nose is now a love triangle landmark!"
Someone even made a poll in the team group chat:
Who should Christina choose?
Jacob: Muscles and loyalty Edward: Brains and privilege Neither: She deserves better
Christina voted for the third option.
The tension reached its peak during a team meeting. The trainer was explaining the new escalation flowchart, but no one was listening. All eyes were on Jacob and Edward, seated on opposite sides of the room like rival barangay captains.
Jacob kept flexing his biceps every time Edward spoke. Edward kept quoting Nietzsche every time Jacob blinked.
Christina, seated in the middle, was trying to focus on the flowchart but kept imagining the two of them in a boxing ring—one armed with protein shakes, the other with philosophical monologues.
After the meeting, both men approached her. At the same time.
"Can we talk?" they said in unison.
She sighed. "Only if it's about routers."
Jacob looked hurt. Edward looked intrigued.
"I'm not choosing anyone," she said. "I have bigger problems. Like my delayed salary. And my mom's medicine. And the fact that my nose is trending in the company meme page."
They both fell silent.
Christina walked away, her headset swinging like a weapon of emotional destruction.
Because in a world where women were expected to choose between muscles and money, she was choosing something else:
Herself.